Close
by blueborealis
Summary: He's starting to hate that nobody has come as close as she has.
1. Chapter 1

So, I'm new. I love to write but haven't done it in a long time and have gotten worse. I'm trying to work on that! Be kind. :)

This is the first thing I'm posting because I absolutely adore the Rachel/Jesse thing and, come on -- he's the only person who (even while betraying her) has treated Rachel nicely. I mean, give the girl a break!

Also: I don't own Glee. Wish I did.

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Jesse St. James has every reason to be confident. His face is all straight lines and his body strong angles; he is older and smarter than his competition; he has talent most people only dream of. Still, he finds himself standing in front of this bunch of underdeveloped kids with mediocre voices trying his hardest to keep from shaking. He's positively squeezing his muscles to stiffness.

Schuester's not there yet and the prepubescents in this so called Glee club aren't giving him any sort of chance to explain his presence. Their hostility sits in front of them like a wall and Jesse doesn't think there's any way to climb it.

Mercedes and Finn are trying to burn holes into his body with their eyes and, a few times, his face smarts and he almost thinks they've succeeded but he forces himself to preserve the cool smile that's been plastered on his face since he walked into the room.

He holds onto that smile even when Rachel's eyes dart over his face for the nineteenth time in two minutes. Her hands clench into her skirt. Her face is creased with worry and he thinks she might be trying to telepathically beat the shit out of him for being in _her_ school, in front of _her_ Glee club. He can practically hear the hum of her brain from across the room and he almost laughs out loud because, really, what else would Rachel's brain do but hum?

He tries not to think about her purity. She is too proper for him, too concerned about other people's feelings to get far enough ahead. But, then, her voice is too penetrating and her hair is too shiny and her mouth does that stupid thing where one side lifts up before the other when she smiles and he's starting to hate that nobody has come as close as she has.

He doesn't look directly at her and tries not to think about her knee socks or tanned legs but her panic has shortened her skirt and he can't stop staring at her thighs and thinking how much he suddenly wishes he was the person she needs him to be.

But then Schuester's there and his hand is on Jesse's shoulder, steering his eyes away from Rachel and back to those revolting children he calls singers and the pressure of the moment is back. He is performing, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Rachel wasn't stupid. She knew that it was bizarrely, romantically unrealistic for a boy to woo a girl by singing her a song in a crowded room. Just as unrealistic as a boy agreeing to go to a Wiggles concert and transferring schools just to be with her. Even more unrealistic that this boy was gorgeous, intense and super talented.

So she wasn't surprised when Kurt and Mercedes and Finn exploded at the sight of Jesse at Glee Club. _He's a spy, Mr. Schue! What else would bring him here? Nobody would be stupid enough to leave Vocal Adrenaline! We all know the minute we're no longer a threat he'll drop us like last week's mashed potatoes._

Nobody could believe that this boy's only motive was Rachel and nobody had the decency to pretend otherwise. She wasn't surprised, not at all, but that didn't stop her smile from slipping on one side and her chest from hurting.

She'd looked around the room at Kurt and Mercedes, Quinn and Puck; Artie, Tina and Finn. They all looked at her accusingly, like this was all her fault, and she didn't know what to say. She tried to read their faces for help and realized what all those gleaming eyes meant. Not a single one of them thought she could be worth any of it.

She knew all their fears were reasonable and she knew she shouldn't be angry with them but, for once, she couldn't ignore the icy rage that built up in her chest. Hadn't she proven hundreds of times how talented she was? Didn't she back off to let them shine when they needed it? Didn't she stomach their hateful whispers and all the damage those slushies did to her hair and, in the end, still carry them through every competition?

And now, at the first chance, they'd all proved that none of it meant anything. Kurt inspected his finger nails like nothing deserved his attention and Quinn crossed and uncrossed her legs slowly and Finn, _even_ Finn, was sleeping with his eyes wide open.

Rachel didn't know what to do. She looked at them for another minute and couldn't think of a single thing to say. These weren't her friends. Their eyes were blank and their faces expressionless and she realized none of them even _cared_ what this was doing to her. She could understand selfishness and immaturity and backstabbing but this she couldn't handle. These weren't her friends and, just now, she didn't think she ever wanted them to be.

Rachel had always been good at acting so she closed her eyes, squeezed her face into what she hoped was a smile and took a few cleansing breaths to knock their expressions out of her mind. She tried to concentrate on the sheet music in front of her but her hands were trembling and she couldn't see the notes and, suddenly, the ice in her chest spread to the rest of her body.

Her hand flew to her eyes when they started prickling and blurred and her sheets of music fluttered to the floor like feathers. She wished she could slide to the floor with them, just to lie there, but she refused to cry in front of these people and, suddenly, she was angrier than she'd ever been and her throat was tight and she was out of her seat and running to the door.

"I _am_ enough," she said.

She thought she saw someone stand up and move in her direction before she whirled around but she slammed the door shut and didn't look back.

An hour later she was lying in her room with her temples throbbing and a cold eye mask on her face. She didn't want her eyes to be puffy in the morning or her face to be splotchy but she was almost at the point of not caring. She was spread out on her bed like a star, not at all the kind she wanted to be, and she felt so tired – her whole body ached – but she didn't think it was because she'd just experienced the most emotionally draining moment of her life. It was because she knew Jesse was probably reporting back to Vocal Adrenaline when he wasn't with her and that he was making his promises just to break them in the end. She didn't know what he was trying to break – the entire Glee club or the girl behind it – but she wasn't going to let him do either.

Rachel wasn't stupid. Jesse was deceitful and dramatic and dangerous but his kind of talent didn't come along very often and she had never met anyone like him. He was her only equal and, for that, he was worth the risk. She couldn't push him away.

She gave in to him because when he opened his mouth she remembered why she loved singing and instantly wanted to wrap her voice around his. She loved him because he could make her sing, _truly _sing, better than ever before, but she absolutely hated him because he was the only one who could make her silent.

So everything hurt because, even though all of it was completely unrealistic and romantic and beautiful, she was so almost-in-love with Jesse St. James that she thought she might die. She wished he _was _there just for her because there was nobody else who could win her like he had.


	3. Chapter 3

When Jesse surprised Rachel during her ballet hour and asked about her dreams she told him about Broadway musicals and New York City, though he already knew perfectly well, and she found herself hoping it was one of his dreams, too. She didn't think it was worth it (for her) if it didn't harbor insane talent (like his).

She was so happy he was back. In the hallway he hugged her into his side and she clutched his jacket and her heart skipped and she felt light all over. They held onto each other like all great lovers did (on Broadway, at least) and, for a second, she thought everything was fine between them.

Then Jesse prodded her for more information and she found herself wondering if he was doing this for her or for _them_ – if this counted as _taking one for the team_ – but she answered his questions anyway.

"My mom," Rachel said. She missed her mom. Sometimes, she looked through old photographs and saw a space beside her little self that was big enough for a mom. There was a tiny part of her heart that was saved for a mother and, though she'd never seen the woman or known her at all, she hoped she'd meet her someday.

She'd never told anybody before, not even her dads, but Jesse got the truth. She told herself she'd confessed this to him because he was just like her, in a way: young and alone, with huge dreams and faraway parents. She told herself that the way her chest crushed in on itself and the way her hands were jittery and her body was electric when he was around had nothing to do with it. She told herself they were both stars, too bright and unreachable to anyone but themselves, and that they understood each other.

But the part of her heart that longed for her mother was small and didn't ache as much as she said because she knew she couldn't change the past. And, anyway, she'd loved being little and singing and training for her future of fame. She loved her dads and couldn't imagine not having the childhood she'd had.

Jesse asked her about dreams for _right now_ and her stomach plummeted because she almost-loved him and she couldn't tell him about the ones he featured in because those were dreams for _someday_, so she told him about her mom.

"There's a tiny part of my heart that wants to meet my mom," Rachel said. Her hands shook a little but she looked him in the eyes. "I want this person in my life _someday _because she let me live and, no matter how much it hurts me, I'll never forget that." She kissed his cheek and took his hand and thought, _please, God, let him read between the lines_. She liked him and she wanted him close by and she didn't want him to go back to Vocal Adrenaline when he ruined New Directions. She was sure he'd understand. She needed him to understand.

He looked a little confused and unsure but he smiled anyway and kissed her hair.

But this was a big secret to tell and she found herself wishing he wouldn't understand and, suddenly, she felt like throwing up all over his leather jacket. He was Jesse St. James, former (still) captain of Vocal Adrenaline. He was her rival, no matter how much he denied it, and, for a few minutes, she'd let herself forget it because this was high school and she wanted a normal life and normal worries and a normal boyfriend (one without an agenda). Then she remembered the world was waiting for her and, surely, the world was more important than this boy in high school who was holding her fingers and touching her hair. _There's nothing normal about me_, she thought to herself. She wouldn't forget again (not even for Jesse St. James).

For now, she wouldn't let his leather jacket or his soft hair or his extraordinary voice stand in her way of winning Regionals. She refused to let him break her. She took a deep breath and pretended like nothing was amiss, like they were those great lovers on Broadway again, and smiled.

Maybe _someday_ they could be great together.

Maybe (hopefully) they'd meet again.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: OK so I've been dilly-dallying like no other but here's another tiny tale! This one's way longer (yay) but it took forever to get out because dialogue (what little of it there is) is really hard for me. Let me know if you think it flows naturally/sounds believable/makes you want to puke/anything! And fear not! I've already written the next (and probably last) chapter. Peace out!**

**Also, I don't know if I've ever done a disclaimer spiel, so yeah: I don't own or get paid for a single thing relating to Glee in any way (i.e. this entire story). But at least I don't have to worry about weekly ratings/getting a paycheck/getting my friends' paychecks! ;)**

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Every day at noon Rachel was a loser. She walked the McKinley High hallways proudly and flipped her hair like she was on a runway but her power strut was invisible to her classmates. When it wasn't, she had a slushie thrown at her face that almost made her _want _to be invisible. She told herself the cruelty of high school and the slushie facials would be worth it in the end, when she was on Broadway, because a tormented youth would provide her with the emotional depth needed to play the female leads.

At four in the afternoon the girl was a star. Every day at Glee Club she opened her mouth and escaped into song and promised herself she would break out of Lima because her dreams were too big for such a small town. After a while, Rachel started to believe it and strive for it and she couldn't think of anything else she could possibly want more. So when Jesse St. James showed up she was surprised by how much she wanted him. Every day she told herself Broadway stardom was the first and only thing on her list of to-do's but, pretty quickly, she realized Jesse St. James was the second.

Most nights, Rachel was home by six o'clock for dinner with her dads. At home she was loved and treasured and encouraged. She would eat dinner with them and they'd talk about music and philosophy and history until one of her dads requested a song. She'd sing for them until they ran out of requests and they'd only ask for one or two songs a night – always _her _favorites – to avoid straining her voice. Rachel adored her dads and always felt like she sang her absolute best for them and, even if she didn't, their applause was the loudest and longest she'd ever heard in her life. Eventually they'd all go to bed tired and happy, and wishing each other sweet dreams.

When she was sure her dads were sound asleep, Rachel would tiptoe back downstairs to the living room to relax by herself. She loved being at home. It was the only place she felt completely comfortable, apart from on stage, and she loved being able to throw herself on the sofa with messy hair and sweatpants and a marathon of _America's Next Top Model _without being made fun of. She knew it was all just stupid high school drama and that she shouldn't let it get to her but, by nighttime, she was so tired of it all. Her head hurt from all the slushies and her arms and legs and stomach felt like lead because of dance practice. Mostly, her eyes hurt; she spent a lot of time squeezing them shut because she didn't want to give anybody the satisfaction of making her cry.

She'd make a hot chocolate and watch ridiculous programs on TV and sometimes she'd wonder whether she was alone or lonely and she'd have to watch another episode or installment or movie just to forget. Rachel rarely invited people over, even those few she considered friends, because this was the only place that she could be exactly what _she_ wanted; it was the only place where nobody else's opinions mattered.

So, on a stormy Thursday night, when something thumped heavily against the front door, Rachel catapulted off the couch in a frenzy. Who could possibly want an audience at one in the morning? She squeezed her cell phone to her chest and glanced up the stairs. Her dads had gone up to bed more than an hour ago and, most likely, were out cold till morning; she was on her own. With the rain splattering wildly against the windows and her heart thrashing around in her chest, Rachel felt like a caged animal. Too terrified to think of a plan, she pressed herself against the wall in the entryway and edged toward the door. Then the gold door handle rattled impatiently.

Rachel's heart dropped to her stomach; this sort of scene never played out well on TV. She swallowed tightly but inched forward, determined to at least get a look at the crazed fugitive outside her door so she could identify him if she survived. She stood in front of the door for a full minute with her hands balled up into fists, thinking about the killer on the other side, before she got the nerve to push onto her toes to look through the peephole. For a second all she could see was a dark jacket and a horribly white face and she almost screamed to wake her dads but, then, the figure stepped into the light.

"Rachel," he said, "don't be such a drama queen. Let me in."

Rachel closed her eyes in relief and let out the breath she'd been holding; this voice she knew well. She unlatched the door and smacked the late night visitor hard across the shoulder.

"Jesse! I thought you were a killer for a minute. Why didn't you call? You could've given me a heart attack and," she gasped a little, "forever ruined my chances of making the Pilates video I've always wanted to do, which would inevitably earn me a spot in the fitness instructor hall of fame as the youngest guru of my time." She put a scandalized hand up to her heart to make sure it was still beating but Jesse caught her fingers and pulled her into a hug. He laughed into her hair.

"You really are ridiculous, you know," he said but he pushed the hair away from her eyes and kissed the corner of her mouth slowly and she wasn't offended. "I just wanted to see you. It's been a long day," he said. Rachel's face broke into a wide smile and she forgot all about the scare he'd given her. She took Jesse's hand and drew him into the living room where, all charm forgotten, he dropped onto the couch and raised her mug of hot chocolate to his lips. Rachel's impeccably groomed left eyebrow shot up and almost disappeared into her hair.

"Oh, Jesse! Thanks for coming! Have a hot chocolate," she said in a syrupy voice, "make yourself at home!" She swatted his hands off her drink and pulled the mug away.

Jesse choked on his last sip. His eyes shot up to Rachel's and he laughed unashamedly, standing up to set the mug back onto the coffee table. He kissed Rachel's cheek lightly and she pulled him closer but, as much as he wanted this to continue, he couldn't stop himself from shaking his wet hair at her. When the cold rain splattered across her face, Rachel's eyes killed him on the spot. She beat his shoulder as hard as she could with her fists but Jesse didn't try to defend himself and when she gave up and stopped attacking him, he smirked in triumph. He couldn't wipe the delight from his face when he noticed the way she was glaring at him, eyes narrowed under her canopy of eyelashes.

She huffed impatiently, hands on hips, tongue out in trivial revolt. "Whatever!" When Jesse smirked at her in answer she huffed exasperatedly again and threw her hands up. "As the caring one in this relationship, I'm going to find you dry clothes. Not because you deserve them," she gave him a pointed look, "but because I can't afford to lose practice time if you catch pneumonia and I have to take care of you." Jesse scoffed loudly before standing up and turning into the kitchen and Rachel rolled her eyes, almost missing the way he grinned to himself.

She laughed when she heard him rummaging through the cupboards and cursing about the small size of the Berry household mugs and ran up the stairs as quietly as she could. When she returned she handed him a white t-shirt and blue flannel pajama pants which she hoped were big enough. He took the pants from her and cocked an eyebrow.

"Flannel?" He looked aghast. "Really?"

She laughed a little and pushed him down the hall. "Beggars can't be choosers," she said pleasantly as she pushed him through the bathroom door. Jesse gave her a look, which she ignored, but he went quietly.

Within minutes, the two sat together on the living room couch with two fresh mugs of cocoa – Jesse's work – and their legs tangled, sweatpants and flannel. Rachel was pressed into his side so tightly she thought she'd melt into him and become a part of his body but, somehow, he held her like that for a long time and she loved it. Her face didn't cool down and her heart still staggered around her chest but, still, she let him guide her head down to his thigh. She gazed up at Jesse and counted the number of gold flecks in his right eye and told herself to breathe deeply but then she wondered if that's what Lamaze felt like and her brain short-circuited. Jesse, deep breaths, babies, sex, Jesse, giving birth, Quinn, ew, babies, oh my God, sex, Jesse, what!

Jesse must've noticed the way Rachel's face changed but – oh God no! – she hoped there was no way he could possibly find out what she was thinking. She swallowed thickly and tried to breathe and keep her mind clear but it was so hard when he was all around her, above and below, her head resting in his lap. But then he smiled slightly and smoothed the tiny flyaway hairs around her face and Rachel found she could breathe easily again. She watched him watch her for a little while and she wondered if he knew how much everyone (she) adored him, and if his haughtiness was just an act, and if he loved her. Rachel was sure the way his fingers brushed across her face, like specks of sunlight, meant something but her eyes fluttered closed and she forgot everything.

Hours later Rachel stirred slowly against a warm pillow. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and pushed up from her bed only to realize she was on the sofa, on Jesse's legs. He was fast asleep; his head slumped against the cushions, his hand relaxed against her side. Rachel knew if she moved she'd wake him, but she was itching to change positions and he looked so uncomfortable – he would definitely have a crick in his neck by morning – so she risked it and shook him awake.

"Come on, Jess," she whispered, "lie down." His eyes were unfocused and she knew he wouldn't remember this come morning, but she let him stretch out fully before she climbed back onto the couch. Only Rachel's right shoulder was lying on the cushions; the rest of her body was nestled against Jesse's. His arms came up around her to rest on her back and she felt his breathing deepen. For a minute she thought about the absurdity of the night, the Romeo and Juliet feeling she always had when they got along so beautifully, and she kissed his collarbone where she could reach it.

By morning Rachel realized what all this was: complete and unimaginable comfort with another human being, and maybe just a little bit of love.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from anything related to Glee in any way; only the order and choice of words is my own! :)**

**A/N: So ... whoops! I always forget to write an author's note (had to delete/edit/resubmit this chapter just to do it. FML.) and this time I really have to. This is pretty much the last major chapter of this story and - I swear - I must've rewritten this one, like, 10 times or something so you guys better love it! Hehe.  
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**There's probably gonna be one more tiny chapter after this that takes place at Regionals (because I can't stop thinking about this random line that popped into my head) but I don't know what's going to happen after that - all this angst is exhausting!**

**Anywho, thanks to everyone who's reviewed - you guys are so kind! Keep reading and reviewing - it really does help and I really do appreciate it! :)  
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**Happy Wednesday!  
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For a second, Rachel couldn't tell exactly where she was in the world. Her eyes were open wide but there seemed to be nothing in front of her. There was absolutely no noise and no air; nothing moved. The world was too quiet, which scared Rachel like nothing else could, and it was fading at the edges like an old photo. And her face felt wet. She lifted a shaky hand to wipe her cheeks, and blinked too fast – and _there_, that was a flash of the real world – and all the sound slapped back into her like a tornado.

It was like a movie: the ringleader and his thugs in leather jackets spreading out in all directions; the car doors slamming one after the other like a too-fast heartbeat; the girl standing alone in the middle of a parking lot with egg shells around her feet. The look on her face was entirely broken and her hair was heavy with egg yolks and jagged bits and there was a tiny, red cut just above her left eyebrow. She didn't think to clean the cut or wipe her face. Instead, she watched Jesse St. James climb into his expensive car, without once looking at her, and drive off like nothing was the matter. When the car disappeared around a corner Rachel's chin trembled and her wide eyes fluttered like a hummingbird because, again, she was the one left behind.

She felt sad and small and slimy all at once. She felt violated. She felt like her chest was being squeezed by some giant hand, and this, at least, couldn't possibly be Jesse's work and, somehow, that made it more tolerable.

Rachel tried to calm down but her lungs kept taking short, shallow breaths and her throat was cold and she felt like she'd just run 12 miles in winter. She knew it wasn't safe to stay in the parking lot – football practice was probably almost over and a slushie in the face would almost certainly kill her right now – but she felt so tired; she couldn't think of a single thing to do but stand there. Then, though it wasn't respectable and it wasn't at all a Rachel Berry thing to do, she sat down on her shins and threw up all over the asphalt. She didn't know if it was the lack of air or the emotional exhaustion or the egg yolk on her lips that did it but she hurled, over and over again, until she felt completely empty.

And then, after a long minute of trying desperately not to cry, Rachel opened her eyes and stared at the nasty puddle of vomit she'd somehow produced and she realized something awful and sad and horribly important. Right now, right in front of her, there were parts of herself she could never get back.

She looked at what must surely be little, broken, thrown-up, _disgusted _pieces of her heart – parts she had given to Jesse; hours and days and smiles and touches that could never be taken back or unlived – and cried that it had come to this. She suddenly wished for a time machine or pixie dust to erase it all but that was too childish, she decided, so instead she hoped for deeper wounds, a car crash, amnesia.

And, just as suddenly, she was shocked by her own thoughts. How could she possibly hope for something so horrible? She slapped her hands to her face and rubbed her eyes until all she could see was white starbursts.

He was Jesse St. James and she was stupid for thinking it wouldn't end like this. But he was just a boy; an arrogant, moody, callous boy. Sure, nobody had a voice like his – or those blue eyes or that hair - and she'd _loved him_, and she couldn't believe he'd done this to her but, _but_, this was high school and she felt so _young_ and getting pummeled by a car just wasn't the way to go.

Rachel pushed her palms against her eyes and hated herself for allowing any of this to happen. She should've never been in this situation. She should've kept her cool around Jesse St. James and not let him get so close. She should've seen right through his act because that's all he was – an actor, someone playing a part, someone unreal – and he'd made her a prop. Worst of all, he'd had an audience.

Pulling furiously at the hem of her skirt, she squeezed her eyes shut and did another very un-Rachel thing to do: she shrieked crossly at the now empty parking lot because the thought of Jesse talking about her to that brunette – that _bitch_ – made her want to gouge out his eyes. The awful image popped into her head like a burning spotlight that she couldn't blink away and that made her angrier than anything because she didn't know which she hated more: the boy, the girl, or the thought of gouging out someone's eyes. She brought he hands to her face and, this time, just barely stopped herself from shouting.

She couldn't stand to lose control like this. She couldn't believe she'd allowed someone to have this much _power_ over her.

And instantly, with egg shells in her hair and yellow slime all over her face, Rachel squeezed her hands into fists and promised herself two things: she would get as far from here as possible and she would never again let someone get so close – close enough to make her lose control. She wiped the slime from her cheeks and promised herself she would break out of Lima because her dreams were too big for such a small town. And she knew it didn't make for good karma but she honestly hoped that she'd never see any of these people again; she was going to rise so high and shine so brightly that she'd burn them all down. Nobody would be able to reach her or forget her or hurt her again. She was going to _show them_.

Rachel took a deep breath and, suddenly, she knew what she had to do. She was up and running through the deserted parking lot, and out of the funk Jesse had dumped onto her, so fast that she had no time to think about any of it. In her own car she found a stash of moist towelettes to clean off her face and, again, did not let herself think about the next step. But, then, she was driving down long, unfamiliar streets – way too fast and completely ablaze – and she was relieved to know exactly where she was going. She didn't know how long it would take or the roads that would get her there but she knew it was something she absolutely had to do for herself. And, anyway, once she left the McKinley parking lot things began to move quickly, and blur together, and everything around Rachel took on a muted look for the second time that day.

When she found herself directly in front of the Carmel stage door things began to slow down and clear up. She stared at the door, which was very crisp and bright and red, and didn't think about who was behind it or what she'd say to them or if they had more eggs on hand. Rachel only cared about one person in this auditorium – herself – though later she'd say her focus was on Jesse St. James. She smoothed her skirt, took a deep breath and pushed against the red, hot metal.

The door clattered inward, sharp and loud, like a dropped dish, and shattered into a sudden hush. Every pair of eyes inside the auditorium flew to Rachel's face but she hardly noticed; the boy at center stage looked up and the world around her disappeared. She stared into his eyes fiercely and he stared right back. The nerve!

Rachel moved fast, unthinkingly, and was shocked to suddenly find herself standing less than a foot from the boy she hated most in the world. She blinked a few times out of pure alarm. Everything about Jesse was outrageous and everything with him was sudden, but it was the way he always looked at her that shocked Rachel; he understood her. But she didn't want him looking at her like _that_ after he'd cracked an egg into her forehead.

So she attacked him. She beat his chest as hard as she could until he caught her wrists and pushed her chin up. He looked suddenly like a four-year-old, his face thin and tired and slightly startled. For a long moment Rachel stood very still, determined to show him he hadn't hurt her, but the cut above her eye was still fresh and like a scarlet letter, and she found herself glaring just above his shoulder.

Jesse forced her chin up and she couldn't help the way her eyes flew to his. His hair was ruffled and his cheeks were flushed and, again, he looked much younger than she remembered, but she was not fooled into sympathy – his hand was tight against her face. She could feel his fingertips pulling at her skin, wanted to yell at him for giving her wrinkles, but before she could find the words, Jesse crashed into her. His lips pressed into her hair and face, over and over again, but it was all one kiss. Rachel tried to twist her hands away but he didn't let go, and the butterflies in her stomach turned into great, shuddering birds.

It wasn't nice; he was hard, and forceful, and she knew there was a good reason to stop, but Rachel couldn't think. She was so relieved they were together again. She pressed against him until their hips were touching and sighed against his mouth. Jesse was everywhere at once. His lips were hot against Rachel's jawbone and down her neck and across her shoulder. His hands slid under her shirt and across her stomach until Rachel was sure she was burning to the ground but, then, his knuckles brushed her ribs and suddenly he was going too fast like he always did and she remembered why she was there, at Carmel. It was enemy territory.

She put her hands between them and shoved him away. Jesse staggered back a step and looked down at her like she'd lost her mind but, when Rachel suddenly slapped him hard across the face, he froze. For a second he seemed angry. He stood just inches in front of her, wide-eyed and with his lips pressed together in a tight, white line, but he made no move toward her. Rachel pushed him again and he reeled back another step.

"Don't touch me," she spat out shrilly. "You have no right to touch me."

Once the words were out of her mouth Rachel believed them, and it seemed Jesse did, too. He stood in the same spot staring at her like she'd slapped him a second time, his eyes flashing across her face so fast it seemed she might disappear at any moment. The look in his eyes was so bizarre to Rachel that she almost reached up to reassure him, but he seemed too far away and she couldn't bring herself to touch him again. Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, Jesse flinched.

Rachel saw his expression change into something feral and dangerous and she almost started to back away. She supposed it was quite an angry shock to him – the boy who didn't lose – that she'd come so soon after his grandiose attempt to break her, or that she'd had the nerve to deny _him_, and maybe he was about to snap. As soon as the thought entered her head she knew it wasn't true; he wasn't that weak or that predictable. And there was something strange in the lines of his mouth.

She glanced at him from under her eyelashes and almost fell over from shock. Jesse was staring furiously at the tiny gash above her eye and he looked more aghast that she thought possible. He looked like he couldn't understand who'd harmed her and, suddenly, his fingers were on her face, tracing her nose, touching her raw eyebrow like it was the most normal thing to do. He brushed her hair back and cupped her cheek, but the only thing that really held Rachel was the sorrow on his face. His eyes were full of regret, deep and blue and numbing, like a fish pleading to be thrown back into the sea.

She felt, again, like her chest was being squeezed and her cheeks were burning because she didn't know what to think, but Jesse's hands were cold and soothing. She could feel his fingertips, like feathers, asking for mercy against her face. And, really, Rachel wanted to forgive him. She wanted to touch his hair and press against him and kiss the cheek she'd just slapped and let him hold her, but something held her back; there was a current between them, wild and beautiful and sweeping, and it was something she would never forget, but it had become an ocean too tempestuous to take. Jesse crashed into her in waves, over and over, and, no matter how hard or long she swam, Rachel knew she wouldn't stay afloat. This was the way people drowned on dry land.

A tear rolled over her eyelashes and Rachel angrily wiped it away before she took a step back and Jesse's arms fell to his sides. She stared at his tense shoulders, his furrowed eyebrows, the uncharacteristic chaos written across his face, and all she wanted to do was cry and kiss him and squeeze the sadness out of his body. She still loved him, and the longer she looked at him the easier it seemed to forgive him, and that made her incredibly furious.

Rachel's hands flew to her sore eyes. She'd come in with some sort of plan, hadn't she? What could she possibly still see in him! She exhaled deeply. Don't be stupid, she thought, don't let him do this to you. Break him like he tried to break you!

She felt horrible for thinking it and for wanting to hurt Jesse the way he'd hurt her, but she knew this had to be the end. He would try to win her back and Rachel had to stop him from trying. She had to build a levee, vast and enduring, to keep out the sea. So she took another step back.

"You're the worst kind of traitor, Jesse St. James."

"Rach," he said, very fast. "Rachel." His voice didn't sound beautiful. He didn't know what she meant, not really, but he knew he had to touch her. Still, he didn't move from his spot and Rachel found herself wondering if his feet were rooted to the stage.

"Do me a favor," she said, "When we see each other in New York, don't talk to me." She swallowed her heart and took another step toward the exit. "Pretend like we've never met. It'll be the easiest thing!"

Jesse gave her a strange look – he no longer knew the meaning of 'easy' – but he said nothing. Rachel couldn't stop the tiny, wrecked smile from sneaking onto her face.

"It's not like we ever really knew each other," she said.

It was a lie and they both knew it. Their eyes locked for a second before she turned around and ran through the door she'd slammed a lifetime ago.

It was a good performance.


End file.
